


Requiem

by sangi



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-31
Updated: 2007-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:08:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangi/pseuds/sangi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is such a thing as a wife and mother, and there is such a thing as Kyoshi Warrior, but never are they the same. - Eleven reasons Suki is a Kyoshi Warrior.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requiem

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2007, posted here again for archival purposes.

1. Because her mother was.  
  
Suki has always been told she was to become a Kyoshi Warrior - ever since birth. It was her parents that told her this first.  
  
She remembers their faces, from when she was young. Her mother’s face looked always looks beautiful to her, even in memory. She has a rounded face with almost-shaped eyes that are a light honey brown, and her nose (the thing Suki can remember most of all) is slightly upturned at the end, and rather small.  
  
Her father she remembers much less of.   
  
She can remember, though, the time when she was told she would become a Kyoshi Warrior.  
  
Suki can still feel the wind blowing absently through her hair and the grainy wood underneath her fingers; she can still remember the feel of everything that day (the soft touch of her mother’s hand as it laid upon her shoulder and the shiver that went through her whole body when her father’s voice grated on her ears).  
  
“This is what we are, Suki,” her mother had said. Her father had stood behind them in the temple, standing in front of the solemn Kyoshi statue holding fans and almost posing for it: the fan in one hand open and sweeping out, and the other one in the opposite hand closed and a few feet beneath the first.  
  
The feeling of the carved wood underneath her fingers is unforgettable.  


 

* * *

  
2\. Because there is nothing left.  
  
Kyoshi Island has always been observed by the Fire Nation as an opponent in battle; something to overpower and destroy. Though they have tried many times to attack the island, their attacks have never done too much damage.  
  
Eight years ago, when Suki was six years old, she can remember smelling the smoke of burning wood, and hear the frantic screams of her mother as she yelled out to the members of Kyoshi, “That’s my husband and baby in there!” Now, when Suki is almost sixteen, she is glad that she was very young when this happened, or perhaps things would have gone a different way.  
  
But she stands there, looking straight ahead, because that was what she had been told to do: to control her emotions.  
  
They teach her in school that emotions get in the way of destroying the enemy (gold eyes pleading for a second chance, one more time to see her son), and so at the school, emotion is an enemy within an enemy. Smiles are okay, but pity and mercy are demons. Sorrow can only be used when necessary and that when someone dies, it’s the fire that consumes them.  
  
Later, sadly: “They aren’t there anymore, are they, mother? The fire consumed them, as they say…” and it trails off.  
  


* * *

  
3. Because she is the oldest of her generation.  
  
“You are the oldest, Suki,” her mother says, with the slightest twinge of pride in her voice (barely there, but the young Suki can already notice it). Suki is seven now, and she doesn’t have much time left before she starts her training.  
  
“You will be the first in your class, and the best,” her mother’s voice is wistful, almost longing. Maybe she wishes that her other daughter had lived, also, but Suki isn’t listening anymore.   
  
She’s staring at the lovely comb on her mother’s dresser - the one that was worth a lot of money. Her eyes glance to her plain, unpainted wooden comb that she uses daily to brush her hair. Her mother’s comb is elegant, green with lotuses painted ornately on it. It’s intricate, and beautiful, and she’s always wanted to touch it, and it’s always been right out of her league.  
  
“Mother,” she says, interrupting whatever the lady was saying, “Will you… brush my hair?”  
  
Her mother stiffens. “I have no time for that,” she says, and stands to walk away, only pausing in the doorway, muffled feet making creaking sounds on the wooden flooring. Her back is to Suki, the green fabric of her Kyoshi kimono standing out and yet blending in against the brown wood paneling of the walls.  
  
“One more year, Suki,” she promises.  
  


* * *

  
4\. Because it’s what she was born to do.  
  
“There aren’t many Kyoshi warriors left,” says the teacher, a man, with ordinary brown hair and dull eyes. “And that’s why you’re all here.”  
  
The girls are standing in a room, now, with expensive wooden flooring and wood paneling on the walls. The middle-aged man in front of them is a teacher at the school, he teaches history, of all things for them to learn. They say it’s because they need to know what they’re fighting for, but to Suki that is a wistful excuse.  
  
He ushers them out the door, one by one. Their covered feet, in the traditional indoor socks, buttoned neatly up the side, make quiet noises on the floor. The girls in front of her range in height and appearance, but all their faces are blank and empty. Suki wills hers to be this way also. She wants to be a Kyoshi warrior, one who was no emotion, many who are all the same.  
  
Always, always, always has she wanted this, because it runs in her family and she’s been told time after time that this is the way things are. And it’s finally her first day in the academy, and she’s different. Suki wants to be the same yet better.  
  
So she is.  
  
Suki can hear him whisper beneath his breath as he walks them all down the long corridors of the ancient school (“This is our future,” he says, almost reverently).  
  


* * *

  
5. Because she has to work hard.   
  
“It’s cold outside,” she says to the empty air.   
  
She knows her mother is watching her from the kitchen; she picks up a knife, throws, and hopes for it to hit the mark.  
  
Good, she inwardly thinks, right in the middle.  
  
The presence of her mother is gone now, like a leaf blowing in the wind, only to land back on the frost-covered ground in the dead of winter. It’s the kind of cold that’s numbing at the same time as being warming and burning in a way that’s really hard to understand. So she pretends she didn’t know her mother was watching, and continues on.  
  
“Most certainly,” she says out loud, “it is freezing today.”  
  
The air is definitely cold. Her breaths make small puffs in front of her face that warm her skin for a moment before freezing. Suki’s hands are numb and, in parts, cracked and red. She bites down on her lip so hard that it bleeds, before throwing a knife again, flying dangerously towards the target.   
  
She can feel the smile (and the pride peeking through the corners of it) at dinner that night, when they eat with several of the other, older Kyoshi Warriors. She guesses that this is her mother’s comfort and lets it be.   
  
“Suki, your mother says you’re very good at archery (the best), maybe even more skilled than some of the older Warriors. Is this true?” There’s a mocking smile on the man’s face.  
  
“If my mother says it, it must be true.” Suki smiles, and it’s not jaded as much as you’d think.  
  


* * *

  
6\. Because it makes her mother proud.  
  
She can hear them talking in the other room, because their voices are loud. There are three of them. One’s voice is soft and slow, melodic, almost hypnotizing. What someone wouldn’t normally notice is that there is never any inflection or stress on her words, so you can never really tell what she’s thinking. The other is the opposite; angry, rash, loud, emotional.  
  
And the last is her mother’s.  
  
Suki peeks through the door crack: around the low table, three women are seated on cushions. They all lift the cup of tea to their lips at the same time, and then drop it back down in conjunction.   
  
“Of course,” her mother is saying now, “first in her class.” This is not the first time Suki’s mother has been bragging about her to other people, but this is the only time that Suki’s been spying on her while she does it (or even looking closely at her face as she speaks). Her face is glowing as the other women murmur in soft voices.  
  
Then her mother smiles, and it’s one of the only smiles she’s ever seen on her face. It is, of course, halfway fake: but it is so utterly breathtaking in its marvelous quality that Suki finds herself telling her lungs to breathe.  
  


* * *

  
7. Because she’s the best.  
  
She looses the arrow; it hits the middle. So does the knife.  
  
And then, later:  
  
Her opponent is on the ground and in the background she can hear them all clapping. Her katana is at the other girl’s throat.  
  
During the long performance, her deadly fans and her other slightly heavy fans with the duller edges swirl in the air (red and purple and blue and green) and land perfectly in her hands, and she turns for the last time in the performance.  
  
The people clap and look to her, smiling lightly, some in happiness or excitement (maybe even idolization?), and some in jealousy or jaded misbelieve in her efforts. But she’s smiling plastically at them as they look to her, performance finished. Later that night, she’s with her mother as they meet with her teacher. Her mother is radiant; the trainer is a bit miffed.  
  
“Congratulations, Suki,” says the trainer. “I’m afraid I can teach you no more.”  
  
Self-consciously, she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.  
  
The next day is her first day as an official Kyoshi Warrior, and she spends much time in the morning meticulously applying her makeup for the ceremony. When she’s done, she finds herself staring into the mirror, looking at a picture of a girl with a pale white face, a red space beneath the black-painted eyebrows, and crystal ice eyes.   
  
She feels the compulsion to bow to her reflection.  
  


* * *

  
8. Because she has people to protect now.  
  
The other Kyoshi Warriors gather around, giggling and laughing. Most of them have brown hair and brown eyes, but all their faces are painted exactly the same (white face, pale like a ghost, red haunting shadows, and deep black lines).  
  
Suki stands apart from the group, at the front of the classroom, where she smiles benevolently upon them. They look up at her with their wide eyes, some still smiling, and some still frowning. Their faces, again, are all painted the same. Except for distinguishing features like the nose, they are all just Kyoshi Warriors.  
  
When they were younger, before they had become the practiced people they were today, Suki and her fellow Warriors had been very, very young and innocent. But, there was a war, and as she will tell people many times in the future, Kyoshi is a giant sore point for them, and it’s not common for small raids. And so the Kyoshi Warriors have become more of a general fighting force than the original, pristine (more ornamental) people they once used to be.  
  
So Suki smiles at them, and smiles grandly (because it’s so serious now).  
  
“Come on, girls,” she claps her hands once. “Time to practice.”  
  


* * *

  
9\. Because there’s a new world out there.  
  
Traveling with a group that isn’t her normal traveling companions of her Kyoshi Warrior followers is quite strange for Suki. She’s used to being in charge, and having to think about battle tactics. As she travels with the Avatar, her boyfriend, and the rest of their group, she realizes that she’s much older and more mature, and much more hardened than any one of them.  
  
Katara is sweet, nice and knows some of the hardships; Sokka is overzealous and knows nothing because he chooses to stay oblivious; Aang is young and youthful, and he’s the goddamn Avatar, but he’s still so young, and he needs to save the world; Toph is snarky and sarcastic and everything she shouldn’t be.  
  
When they sit around the campfire at night, she feels isolated because around the campfire they used to examine maps and decide the best way to attack. When they make food, she feels out of place, because she’s used to choosing their menu. And now, when they’re ready to leave, she feels the most ostracized of all, because to them its all so simple.  
  
“Let’s go, guys,” Aang says, being the leader he is.  
  
Katara smiles; Toph snorts; Sokka shakes his head slowly.  
  
“Twinkle Toes…” says the blind earthbender, and it trails off.  
  
Suki laughs, and they all turn to look at her.  
  


* * *

  
10\. Because she’s better than this.  
  
It’s morning. It’s not night, when she slowly and delicately washes off her makeup. It isn’t afternoon or evening, where she sits with them all and they laugh and giggle and pretend there isn’t a war behind them, waiting to pounce. It isn’t around the times when she feels as if she doesn’t belong, or when she stares up at the moon when everyone else is asleep.  
  
No, it’s the morning, when she puts her makeup on. Her white paste, her lips, the red space above her eyes, and the painted eyebrows – it’s all part of her identity. The only time she’s ever gone without them since she was young was when she had to pretend to be a normal Earth Kingdom refugee, and even then she had her childhood friends with her.  
  
Suki falters as she raises the brush to her cheeks, and she abruptly puts it down, frowning. This hasn’t been the first time that she’s hesitated to put on her makeup, but now she’s not quite sure why.  
  
(The first time was the first time she had ever touched the white paste, the second on the eve of her mother’s death, the third after a horrible Fire Nation raid, and so on…)  
  
“Here,” Katara says, looking sympathetic, as if she understands the hardship of it all. “Let me help.”   
  
A sigh of relief escapes from her throat.  
  


* * *

  
11. Just because.  
  
“I can’t marry you, Sokka,” She’s saying. He frowns at her, not understanding, still clutching the blue necklace in his hands.  
  
It’s autumn now, and the leaves are falling as if they are in slow motion. It reminds her of the time she spent in the dungeons with Azula, before she was rescued, during the rainy season in the early summer. It’s a slow-moving day, the kind that seems to last more than the designated twenty-four hours. It’s the kind of day that brings about the conclusions.  
  
“I don’t understand,” he says, an indescribable kind of sadness in his eyes.  
  
Suki sighs, the slow kind of exhale that she’s so used to. “It’s tradition,” she explains. “A Kyoshi Warrior cannot marry until they are no longer a Warrior.”  
  
She can hear the practiced voice of her teacher ringing familiarly in her ears. All Kyoshi Warriors are females but not all females are Kyoshi Warriors. And, There is such a thing as a wife and mother, and there is such a thing as Kyoshi Warrior, but never are they the same.  
  
Still frowning. “I still don’t get it.” His voice is frustrated now, and the tiny lines between his brows are deeper.  
  
Suki leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on his cheek, letting it linger for a moment before pulling away. The smile she gives him is wistful yet broken. “Yes,” she says. “I know.”


End file.
